The Bargers

 

CHAPTER NINE

THE BARGERS

Granddaddy Barger (David Preston Barger) was what one would term "psychic" in present day terminology. He had the ability to see things that were invisible to other people. During lone walks in the woods and over the countryside, visions of people and animals would appear to him and then, just as suddenly, vanish. And it was said that at times, on the death of an acquaintance, he was able to see the spirit of the deceased.

From my earliest memory, he was missing one eye and was lame in one leg. Both problems arose from work related accidents. I believe he lost the eye to a chip from a rock that he was breaking with a sledgehammer. If I remember correctly, he was at the time working at building a bridge over Lapsley's Run on the old road that existed before Route 220 was constructed.

The story of his hip and leg injury is more of a personal concern with me. My mother had told me that he had fallen off a ladder while he was building the farmhouse. That was the story that she had heard, and I doubt that she or my father was ever told the true story. After they died, Uncle Carl told me what had actually happened. Granddaddy had completed the house, and was constructing one of the outbuildings. He was on a stepladder leaning against the building, when he felt the ladder start to slip. He glanced down and saw one of the babies playing under the ladder, so he yanked the ladder away from the building rather than take a chance on its falling on the child. That child was my father.

When I picture the size and detail of that farmhouse, and the many outbuildings – barn, granary, springhouse, smokehouse – I am amazed that one man could have had the energy to perform all of that construction almost singlehandedly, while providing for a family. Of course, most of the meat consisted of wild game, in the early days of the farm. Granddaddy was an excellent huntsman, and an accurate marksman even with just one eye. But evidently there were times when game was scarce, and finding enough to keep food on the table wasn’t easy. Several times Uncle Carl remarked, “Back then, we ate things that people wouldn’t consider eating these days,” but he didn’t enlarge on the remark. To be truthful, I’m glad he didn’t.

My first memories of Granddaddy were those of an old, crippled man. He would go about with a cane that had been fashioned from a straight sapling, along which a vine had impressed a deep helical groove. At other times he would forego the cane and use a crutch. But whenever I thought of him I pictured him in my mind with the crutch. Several years after his death, Uncle Huiet found the cane lying in the attic of one of the out-buildings, and took it home. When I learned that he had it, I asked Aunt Lois if she would will it to me. But she didn’t wait. After Uncle Huiet died, she gave it to me. I cleaned it up, went over it with a preservative, and keep it - one of my treasured possessions - leaning against the wall of my bedroom.

Even with his infirmities, Granddaddy kept up his share of the farm chores. In cool weather he would sit at the woodshed and split kindling wood with his hatchet and a well-worn splitting block. In the summer he would keep the sizable vegetable garden hoed - balancing himself with a crutch under his left arm, and using his right arm to chop with the hoe, while keeping the end of the handle locked under his armpit. In the mornings, he would sit by the kitchen fireplace and churn milk to make cottage cheese and butter.

Grandma Barger learned from him the details of managing the farm, so that as he aged, she took over the reins smoothly. He was bedridden for the last few years of his life. To relieve his digestive problems, his doctor prescribed two tablespoons of brandy per day. This remedy presented something of a problem to Grandma Barger, who was a strong supporter of the WCTU; but she accepted the prescription on its medical basis. However, the task of purchasing the alcoholic beverage fell to my father because, as a city dweller, he had ready access to the ABC stores. He, a long time elder in the church, was horrified at the thought of a church member seeing him walk out of a liquor store with the telltale paper bag in his hand. To avoid such a scene, he would drive to Salem once each month, make his purchase of two bottles of brandy, and deliver them to the farm on the weekend.

Even when he was a young man Granddaddy Barger had a reputation for being kindhearted, and it was that quality that endeared him to Lula Wilhelm, who chose him among many suitors, although he was considerably older than she. My mother informed me that she was an orphan, of unknown origin, who had been raised by Jacob and Anna Wilhelm from infancy. I don’t know whether she misinformed me because she didn’t know the truth or because she was embarrassed by the truth, which was that Lula Wilhelm was born out of wedlock to Georgia Wilhelm, who died at an early age. Lula was then raised by her grandparents.

After she married Granddaddy Barger, she bore ten children, two of whom died in childhood of diphtheria, and one was still-born. Besides raising the children, she did the cooking and other household chores, eventually with the assistance of the oldest daughter, Aunt Leda, and even later, with the help of Aunt Lois. She studied the Bible, taught the men's Sunday-School class, and read historical novels with religious themes, like The Robe and The Big Fisherman. And then, when Granddaddy grew infirm, she took over the responsibility for managing the farm.

The three oldest children, Ray, Leda, and Thurman (my father) married early and moved to Roanoke. Apparently farming was not very profitable in the twenties, but the silk mill in Roanoke offered employment opportunities, and drew many people from the countryside and the smaller towns in southwestern Virginia. I'm not certain just what kind of job Uncle Ray had at the silk mill, but it led to his involvement with the union, and in that way to his becoming (in a joking sense) the black sheep of the family.

The problem involved the fundamental Barger philosophy of individualism. They opposed Franklin Roosevelt's approach to solving the economic problems of the depression through government intervention, because they were afraid of its inevitable consequences: a strong government that would control personal destinies. In a word, they felt that individuals - not governments, or unions - should solve their own problems. Their primary trait, as a family, was a strong work ethic.

Whenever Uncle Ray's family visited the farm, a discussion of politics would often arise. Although I was very much a child at the time, I remember clearly the give-and-take, with Uncle Ray pressing his minority view against the rest of the family - but with never a voice raised, never a view strongly expressed, although obviously strongly felt.

Uncle Ray strayed from the Barger pattern not only in his politics but also in his choice of a wife. The Bargers tended to assess anyone's worth primarily by their willingness to work. Anyone was either a "worker" or he was "sorry". Grandma Barger, Aunt Leda, Aunt Lois, Aunt Mae, and Aunt Claudine, were all strong capable workers. Uncle Ray's wife, Aunt Olivia, on the other hand, appeared refined and rather frail, although she was not slight of build. On the few occasions that we visited at their home in Roanoke, I was struck by the manner in which the house was decorated, and especially by a case displaying a butterfly collection, that hung on the dining room wall. On visits to the farm, the contrast between her and the Bargers was obvious, and I think those visits must have been stressful for her, although she always appeared pleasant and exceptionally congenial. She suffered from a number of minor illnesses, and one major one. She died almost suddenly, of cancer, in middle age.

They had two children, Hanes and Rosemary. Hanes was near my age, and Rosemary, a few years younger. Hanes and I did not play together very much because of our different interests; that is, our differing ideas about what was "fun". Socializing with Uncle Ray's family was somehow not like dealing with the other Bargers, or, for that matter, with the Wileys; and the difference was not just a matter of politics. It is hard to put my finger on the precise nature of the difference, but I believe that it was that they were more sophisticated, or at least more urbanized, than the rest of us.

Later in life, after Aunt Olivia died, Uncle Ray married a childhood girl friend; and they lived happily together until he, too, succumbed to cancer.

My earliest memory of Aunt Leda and Uncle Sam Young was a visit to their home in Garden City - which was not a city at all, but small development southeast of Roanoke, quite convenient to the silk mill, which was right at the southeastern corner of Roanoke. At that time they had four children: Kenneth, Dorothy, Milton, and Morris; and later they had another son, Beverly. By age, Betty fell between Dorothy and Milton, and I was between Milton and Morris. Sometime during the thirties, the Youngs moved to a home near Hollins Road, Northeast of Roanoke, and even later they bought a farm near the Daleville area between Roanoke and Fincastle.

My mother enjoyed reminding me that I had my own "Uncle Sam". He found a lot that was amusing in everyday life, and made jokes about the most unlikely things. Evidently Milton inherited his sense of humor. Once when we had been invited to their home for dinner, by way of showing off, Milton peeled the crust from his dinner roll, squeezed the remainder into a dough ball the size of a large marble, and ate it in one bite - much to the chagrin of his mother. After dinner the parents chatted in the living room while the children played charades in the kitchen. It was a game made just for the likes of a character like Milton. He kept us in stitches with his off-the-wall antics and pantomimes.

What I remember most about Aunt Leda was that she maintained a soft, kind expression on her face and in her voice - an ever present reminder of her inner nature - and, in that respect, I think that she, of all the children, was most like her father.

Uncle Dallas was the oldest of the children that remained at the farm into adulthood. His facial expression and his demeanor were more serious than those of the Carl and Collins, and he had a kind of rugged good looks that would have attracted women had he not led a life that was almost reclusive on the farm. As a young man he developed an interest in electronics, and built his own short wave radio in the early days of broadcasting, when radio stations were sparse, but powerful. He would often stay up listening late at night, when the "clear channel" stations boosted their transmitting power and atmospheric conditions were quiescent. On the rare occasions when the ionosphere was active and reflected the AM signals efficiently, he could pick up distant, and even foreign stations, clearly. Then he would excitedly wake up other members of the family to listen to a broadcast from San Francisco, or London, or Tokyo.

Later he studied some books and magazines on electrical circuitry, and taught himself the essentials of wiring. Then, in the forties when power lines were strung through Botetourt County, he wired the farmhouse. After that he picked up some extra cash by wiring some of the new homes that were built in that area.

In World War II he served in the Marines, but never saw action. He sported a medal for outstanding marksmanship, a skill that he had developed on the farm. For some reason, the Bargers (after Granddaddy Barger) were not enthusiastic about hunting, although the environs of the farm were rife with wildlife. They seemed to be content to leave the undomesticated animals alone as long as they minded their own business. They drew the line, however, when a hawk threatened the chickens, or when deer marauded the cornfield or the vegetable garden. To deal with such problems they kept a couple of rifles and a shotgun standing in one corner of the kitchen. On more than one occasion, someone would point out a hawk circling above a field that contained chicken houses. Immediately, one of my uncles would come out the kitchen door, loading a shell into a rifle. Then they would take turns shooting at the hawk, arcing hundreds of feet above, until one of them brought it down. That action would be followed by a period of target practice, shooting at tin cans. I tried my hand at it with a 22, but I wasn't a very good marksman.

If he had not served in the Marines Uncle Dallas would probably have married; but he was well into his thirties when he returned to the farm and became deeply involved in the many changes that were taking place there. He was a very eligible middle-aged bachelor when he began to date seriously, but that aspect of his life soon faltered, and eventually expired.

Those years away from the farm left a tiny mark on him - he developed a bit of a wanderlust. About once a year, he would go off alone to some distant state, and return with information about farming practices there.

Uncle Carl was one of the few children that made a serious academic effort in school. Not only did he complete high school, but he graduated at the top of his class, and was valedictorian. His teachers pressured him and his parents about continuing his education at the college level, but they were barking up the wrong tree. At that time the Barger view of higher education was that it was mostly an excuse for putting off real work for four years.

Uncle Carl was more slender than his brothers and appeared to be slightly taller. He usually appeared relaxed and contented, and although he didn't exactly wear a smile, his expression made one feel that he was somewhat amused by the circumstances at hand, and with life in general. At the moment that the work would become most onerous - hot, heavy, or tiresome - he was likely to start whistling or singing a song with funny lyrics.

He served in the Navy in World War II, and was stationed in Panama for a while. After the war he was married, and he and his wife, Aunt Mae, had several children: Chloe, Velma, Rebecca, Anita, and David.

Uncle Collins was the uncle that spent the most time with me. When I was still an infant, he played with me almost as if I were a toy. He would sit me on his knees facing him and bounce me up and down while he sang a jingle, like Yankee Doodle. Then, when he got to the end of the verse, he would suddenly spread his legs and let me drop for a foot or so before he caught me - which never failed to make me giggle. When I grew older, he would often take me with him on errands - to fetch the cows, to visit a neighboring farm, or even on a short truck trip to Eagle Rock.

His name was Samuel Collins, and everyone except the family called him Sam. During the war, he was not drafted. Because of the critical importance of farm products, the selective service board allowed one of the three brothers to remain at the farm; and permitted the family to make the choice. Uncle Collins was chosen because he was the youngest. With help from Lois, his parents, and an occasional hired hand, he maintained the farm until the end of the war.

He was well into his twenties when he married. Sometime later his wife, Aunt Claudine, developed the symptoms of pregnancy; but a physician diagnosed that the symptoms were false. He explained that she had a slight physical abnormality that would make conception virtually impossible. Weeks later she returned to the doctor with the assertion that she knew that she was pregnant. The doctor was just as sure that she was not. But since he didn't know just what the problem was, he referred her to a specialist at the University of Virginia Hospital. Unfortunately, the specialist confirmed the family physician's diagnosis, but scheduled a later appointment for some tests. In short, she was a full five months pregnant before he finally admitted, on hearing the baby's heartbeat, that she had been right all along. Of course, that was before the days of modern chemical and sonogram testing. She bore a healthy child, and three more after that. Her children are: Barbara, Shirley, Sammy, and Billy.

Aunt Lois was only a few years older than Betty, and the two of them would sometimes have long confidential conversations when we visited the farm, especially when Betty was in her teens and became interested in boys. Aunt Lois was dating an older man, whose first name was Huiet. At first, the Bargers were a bit suspicious of Hueit, not because he was considerably older than Lois, but because, for some reason, he had left the area and spent a large part of his early life somewhere in the western states. However, their doubts turned out to be unfounded. After he married Aunt Lois, he proved to be a completely stable person, devoted to her and to making their life together a success.

They lived on a plot of land about a half mile up the highway from the Barger farm. It was too small for large-scale farming, but big enough for a plentiful vegetable garden. Uncle Hueit, unlike the Bargers, was an enthusiastic hunter, and often kept meat on the table in the form of wild game and fish. He harvested the woods on that vicinity, not only for game, but also for berries, and for ginseng, which brought a healthy price even at the wholesale level.

Jobs were scarce in that rural area, but he was a sometimes worker at the Eagle Rock quarry, and found odd jobs on the farms thereabouts. I remember his telling us, during a summer heat wave, that he had contracted to cut a large field of corn. To avoid the withering sun, he slept during the day and cut the corn by moonlight.

In his later years he took up the unlikely hobby of needlepoint. He gave us a couple of needlepoint Christmas tree ornaments that he had made, on our last visit before he died. Aunt Lois seemed a bit embarrassed by the gift, but the decorations were perfectly stitched, and they are still among my favorite tree ornaments. Each year, when I hang them on the tree, I remember him clearly, with his kind face and gentle sense of humor.

He and Aunt Lois shared a number of hardships, including the sudden death of a beautiful four-year old daughter in a tragic automobile accident; but their ties never weakened, and they grew old together. My mother looked on the success of their marriage as a kind of vindication, because she had never shared the Bargers' doubts about Hueit. I think that, during their early courtship, she saw in them the types of the leading characters in the romantic novels about love in a rural setting that she was fond of reading.

The war was a trying time at the farm, with worries about maintaining the farm and concerns that either Uncle Carl or Uncle Dallas might at any moment be transferred to a combat area. But the war left an unexpected benefit. The food shortages resulted in higher prices for farm products - and the high prices held for some time after the war. The basic requirements for survival - food, shelter, heat, clothing - had never been a problem; but now, for the first time significant amounts of cash became available; and it was invested in the farm. The house was wired for electricity, a tractor replaced the horses, the pasture was enclosed with an electrified fence, a new granary was built with an electric powered milling device, and the old wooden chicken houses were replaced with cinder block buildings that represented the state-of-the-art in chicken care: environmentally controlled, with hundreds of chickens in batteries of cages arranged vertically and horizontally so that each chicken had access to running water and a metered amount of food. Each layer had its own nest, set above a hole in the cage floor. When the egg was laid, it would drop through the hole onto a soft wire screen that was set at a slight slope so that the egg would roll gently to the end of the battery to be collected along with the others.

My uncles would study the Farm Journal assiduously, learning about new techniques and developments in farming equipment. They also noted production forecasts and planned their output accordingly, slanting it toward those products that were predicted to be in short supply. Perhaps they would buy fewer baby chicks one year, but purchase a dozen extra pigs to raise. Or they might plant an acre or more of strawberries to sell to the dairy at Clifton Forge, for flavoring ice cream. As the years passed they bought high-tech reapers, binders, and planters, which could handle much greater acreage than the limited arable land of the farm. Consequently, they proceeded to buy more land, and to rent available land in the James River bottom and on nearby farms.

Throughout this post war period, they consistently rebuffed the offers of federal agricultural representatives, who continually offered them government subsidies. On at least one occasion, an agent informed them that their production violated federal guidelines; but they had studied the law more closely than the agent. Legally, the government could set production quotas for them only if they were subscribers to a federal program - which they were not, as they had never accepted any federal funds.

The earliest Barger reunions that I can remember were held on the banks of Craig's Creek, at a location that was referred to as "Owens's". In the hot days of August I looked forward to swimming almost as much as eating, and the two together made for a near-perfect day. Theoretically, water is odorless, but near a stream like Craig's Creek, there is a clean, fresh atmosphere that is not at all like the air over hot dry land. The water was deep enough for swimming, and although the bottom was rocky, most of the stones had been worn smooth by the flowing water and were not painful to stand on. A cable had been strung across the creek, so that one could sit in a boat or raft and pull himself across. On the picnic side of the creek a vine hung down from a branch of a large tree on the bank, and we would use it to swing out over the water and drop in. The water was deeper toward the far side of the creek, where an immense boulder was happily situated in exactly the right spot to serve as a diving platform. In short, it was an ideal swimming hole.

Later, I stuffed myself with all the delectables, many of which were specialties of the preparer. And then we returned to swimming - many of the younger adults as well as the children. I remember each of those reunions as a happy experience, but now as I look back at them, it is with a certain degree of remorse. At those get-togethers I met many of my cousins, second cousins, and "once-removed" relatives, but I was so interested in eating and having fun that I did not spend any time really getting to know them; and consequently I have very little memory of them. However, of all the many Bargers that I did get to know throughout my life, I can't think of a single one that was innately disagreeable or unlikable.

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